Seven Years Later

It really amazes me that it has been seven years since September 11th, 2001. The images of that day are still so fresh in my mind, so vivid, it seems almost impossible that it is nearing a decade since our country was so dramatically forced into an era of heightened security.

My mom woke me up the morning of 9-11. I was attempting to sleep the day away until I had to go coach cheer practice at the high school that afternoon. Four days earlier I had broken my ankle doing a pyramid on my college all-star team...and needless to say...I was feeling quite sorry for myself. I was still in a lot of physical pain, not to mention suffering from a lot of the emotional distress that comes along with temporary immobility. In short, I was feeling like life had just dealt me a tough hand. Little did I know that my entire perspective was about to be changed forever.

"Miranda, New York City is being attacked!" Trying to shake off the mental fog that accompanies a fitful nights sleep, I slowly opened my eyes. My mother was sitting on the edge of my bed, eyes wide with disbelief. As my mom began to relay the details of the first plane hitting the WTC, 'this is a strange dream', I thought. Yet, as she continued to talk and I began to feel the familiar tug of the cast on my leg I realized that I was, in fact, awake. My first coherent thought was one of panic, "where's dad?!" I asked.
My dad had been taking quite a few trips to New York lately and he had a business meeting scheduled in New York that very day. The night before, September 10th I had wished him a nice trip and safe return home and then took no more thought in the matter.

"He's at work," she said. "His plane never took off."

With a sigh of relief I sat upright, adjusted my crutches, and pushed off the edge of my sleigh bed in order to give my arms a little extra assistance. As I hobbled into my parents bedroom to the nearest television I paused, transfixed by the horrific image of a fiery plane thrust into the side of one of the World Trade Center Towers like a spear. In the hours to come I sat glued to the television fearing I was watching the end of the world unfold right before my tired eyes. I watched as the second plane struck, as desperate men and women jumped out of the towers. I watched as those magnificent buildings crumbled into a tsunami of ashes and smoke that encompassed the whole city like an atomic bomb unlike any scene out Hollywood's highest grossing action film. I watched as newscasters cried as they interviewed survivors and family members searching for loved ones...I cried too. I cried tears of joy that I was so unaffected but I also cried tears for my generations' lost innocence. Kids my age had seen relatively so little conflict. We assumed that America was loved by nearly everyone, everywhere. We had never seen real war. We had only read about it in our history books in sepia-toned pictures and fancy computer generated charts.

At that point in time, things felt like they might never be the same. In many ways, they haven't been the same. They won't ever be the same. But, September 11th, 2001 was not the end of the world. After the media stopped showing the images of the planes crashing and the anthrax scares began to die down, life began to restore itself. The radio stopped playing audio clips of the president's rousing speeches and promises to retaliate against terrorists. My cast came off and I returned to my college team. Life was restored to its usual ebb and flow...but I was forever changed. I will never forget the events of that fateful day. Seven years later I am so thankful for the blessings I enjoy and for the way my outlook changed on a sunny September day from a surly eighteen year to that of a concerned, patriotic citizen.